


First time for everything

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [39]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Gen Work, Hesitant bonding, lack of trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran finally gets invited into Theron's tent; the 'before' piece to Ma Halam</p>
            </blockquote>





	First time for everything

After the fuss of setting up camp had died down and a late meal had been eaten, Zevran found himself watching the Grey Warden who had refused to kill him. Theron was sitting by the campfire, gaze focused on the arrow heads he was tying to freshly made shafts, fingers constantly moving in the firelight.

He oozed tension - half the camp did after they’d spent yet another day carving a path towards the Brecilian Forest. Zevran watched his shoulders the most, the way the ranger was hunched over his work like a falcon guarding a kill.

The Antivan waited until Theron paused to take a break, slinking over as the Dalish elf sat up straight and rolled his shoulders with a grimace.

“You look so tired. All this constant walking and fighting is getting even to you.” The blond started as he sat down beside the Dalish elf, careful with the scattered arrows in varying states of completion. “I think I know what you need.” Theron raised an eyebrow curiously.

“A good night’s rest?” He answered, and Zevran smiled.

“Perhaps that, yes. My thought is this: we retire to your tent, and I show you the sort of massage skills one can only learn growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”

The ranger blinked in was either surprise or outright shock, and looked round for anyone who may have been close enough to eavesdrop. Thankfully they were alone in front of the fire, the others either asleep in their tents for the night or reluctantly getting ready for the first watch.

Zevran watched the other elf’s reaction to his offer in amusement. They had known each other for only a short time, but Theron was acting so oddly around him it was obvious to Zevran how the other elf might have felt, along with the cautious flirting to make travel less boring. This was the first time, however, that the Antivan had suggested anything more. It would be so easy to lull Theron into a false sense of security with a few choice words and actions.

However, Zevran could see just how tense the other elf was under his leather armour after a day’s fighting, how he must be aching. A massage, in Zevran’s experience, could so often develop into something more, and make it easier for marks to trust him before he inevitably slit their throats or stabbed them in the stomach.

And with a naive Dalish elf to fluster and distract, it would be even easier.

Theron looked back at the blond, a tad warily.

“Are… You suggesting what I think you are?” He asked quietly, and Zevran shrugged.

“Perhaps. If it turned into something more than a massage…?”

The ranger was quiet as he thought it over. Admittedly, he had been surprised at just how open and relaxed the Antivan was about himself, unlike anything Theron had thought flat-eared city elves were supposed to be like, or any other elf he’d met. It was fascinating, enough that Theron had found himself smiling at Zevran’s chatter with the rest of the group, and had even flirted back once or twice. And, if he was going to be honest with himself in the privacy of his own mind, Zevran was even more fascinating to look at. But what he was suggesting now...

The ranger looked down at the work in his lap, before he set it aside.

“Alright. If it does end up being something more than a massage, I’m sure you can think of something.”

Zevran smiled, and got to his feet. Theron swallowed, and led the way into his tent as knots formed in his stomach. This was happening, it was real.

The Antivan’s gold gaze flicked around the other elf’s tent. It was tidy where his own was host to scattered blades and empty poison bottles, but also fairly empty. Theron had arranged things so his bedroll was in the middle of the tent, pack and bow in one corner. It seemed that Theron simply didn’t unpack all of his things at once.

“I will go and get the oils from my tent.” Zevran said before the silence between them grew uncomfortable, and with that he ducked out of the tent to leave the Warden to his thoughts.

Theron sat down on the furs of his bedroll. He was going to receive a massage from the man who’d tried to kill him before they’d been formally introduced. The black-haired man frowned to himself. Could he even trust Zevran to not try and kill him a second time? He was doing his best to endear himself to the small group, certainly pulled his weight in a fight, and there was remarkably little complaining about the constant travel.

From a practical standpoint, Zevran was quickly making himself as indispensable as the rest of the group, ensuring he had a place. It reminded Theron of the times he’d seen lone wolves work their way into a pack until they were part of the whole. All the same, Zevran had to be aware that his position was fragile, with only Leliana completely trusting him. Either she could sense something the rest of them couldn’t, or she was a little too trusting, perhaps just naive.

Or maybe he was being too serious about the matter? Theron got back to his feet with a sigh, and paced the limited distance around his tent as he took his gloves off. Dalish clans were tightly knit, and it was a struggle for him to not liken this group to the family and friends he had had to leave behind. Sten, Zevran and the dog were the only non-humans apart from himself, there were no ties of blood to link any of them together. He’d only known Alistair and Morrigan a few months, the others just less than that. They were all strangers to each other, more or less. Really, the only thing keeping them together was the Blight, along with the cautiously budding friendships people tended to cultivate while stuck together. They couldn’t be a replacement for his clan.

Perhaps he should give the blond elf a chance? He paused to tug his boots off and pull some trousers on under his armour, and snorted to himself. Accepting a massage, as well as the possibility it could develop into something more... Was that enough to be considered a chance?

All the same, Theron decided that whatever happened tonight, he wouldn’t be an idiot and sleep with his back to an assassin. It’d be better if he didn’t sleep at all, just in case.

The ranger looked up when the flaps to his tent were pushed open, Zevran entering with a small bundle of cloth held in one hand. The Antivan nearly smirked when he saw that Theron was still in his armour.

“If I am to give you a shoulder massage tonight, it will require far less armour.” He pointed out.

Theron nodded, suddenly glad he’d put the trousers on first, and somewhat reluctantly shrugged out of his armour before he followed the blond’s instructions and lay on his stomach on the bedroll. The Dalish elf turned his head, the better to watch Zevran as he knelt down beside the furs.

“Relax.” The Antivan suggested as he unstoppered one of the bottles of oil, wasting no time in placing his oil-slick hands on the ranger’s shoulderblades. Theron flinched slightly at the sudden contact and the cool oil, but both he and the oil warmed quickly as Zevran began.

Theron did his best to relax as the other elf started to massage his shoulders, a little firmer than he’d expected, but he was still aware of the warmth of the blond kneeling beside him, not quite over him.

The ranger let out a soft hissing breath of pain as Zevran focused his kneading and rubbing on tense knots of muscles, and he could have sworn he heard the blond chuckle softly to himself.

“So, have you always been…” Theron began, wanting to alleviate some of the quiet in the tent, but trailing off. That had been too direct a question, even for him. Especially for him.

He felt Zevran’s fingers pause for a second.

“Intrigued by tight leather clothing?” The Antivan guessed.

“Attracted to other men?” Theron muttered into the bedroll, willing himself not to start blushing at the idea.

“I grew up amongst Antivan whores, men and women both. My introduction to the subject of sex was, shall we say, rather practical.” Zevran explained casually, as if they were discussing the weather. “My only rule regarding sex is that it be done well.” He chuckled. “It’s a certain open-mindedness that the Crows seek in their recruits, for very good reasons.”

The ranger was quiet for a second, thinking.

“Define ‘open-minded’.”

“I have been with both men and women in my time. Many, in fact. Often for business, but not always. Given my druthers I would say I prefer a soft and shapely woman, but I know what I am. I cannot change my past. I will not discount anyone solely because of what someone else tells us is right or wrong.”

Theron blinked, but allowed silence to resume again as Zevran’s hands roamed over his shoulders, letting out a grunt of pain when one crept up to the nape of his stiff neck. The former Crow ignored the noise, but his touch was a little gentler as he tried to ease the ache.

“A soft and shapely woman?” The Dalish elf repeated.

“Perhaps, but alas, there is not one here to take my fancy.” Zevran sighed in disappointment.

“Your fancy?”

“I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and strong, or dangerous and exciting… Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?” The Antivan questioned, and Theron had to remind himself to breathe as he considered the idea; of someone like Zevran fancying him.

“But I’m a man.”

“That fact has not escaped my notice.” The blond grinned, starting to work his hands down Theron’s back as he let out another soft chuckle. “Oh, wait, you are being serious, aren’t you?” He realised, and he frowned lightly. “I forget this isn’t Antiva City. We are a little more… open-minded about such things where I hail from. Is this something I should beg pardon for?” He asked, sounding genuinely confused for a second.

“No, I was just… Surprised.” The ranger shrugged, truthfully. His shoulders felt looser, didn’t hurt as much.

“Pleasantly, I hope. You are a most intriguing man, but if what I represent makes you uncomfortable… Well, it would be better for both of us to know that now before I embarrass us both, yes?” Zevran asked with a laugh that was supposed to be carefree, gently rubbing circles along the Dalish elf’s spine as Theron turned his head to finally look at him.

“I don’t feel uncomfortable.”

“You have a bit of an open mind yourself, no?” Zevran smirked, inwardly disappointed that the conversation didn’t seem to be flustering Theron as much as he’d hoped. The ranger looked as guarded as always.

The blond took a breath as he considered what to do next as he worked his hands lower, how he would coax Theron’s guard down entirely. One night would be all he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Bleh, I'm still not happy with this piece.  
> It was supposed to lead into first-time smut, but I went off the idea pretty quickly, so that's why the ending's a bit abrupt.


End file.
